<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Crown-Gifted by Hana_Noiazei</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127744">Crown-Gifted</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hana_Noiazei/pseuds/Hana_Noiazei'>Hana_Noiazei</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blindfolds, Enemies to Lovers, Fairies, Knifeplay, M/M, Porn With Plot, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:08:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hana_Noiazei/pseuds/Hana_Noiazei</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a desperate attempt to appease him, Stellan, a fairy High Duke of the Summer Court, is sent to his fellow noble Aleksander as a peace offering.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Norway/Romania (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Crown-Gifted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I understand that this plot has potential to be developed, but I'm going to ignore them all in favour of writing fairy porn, so...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They think him a gift. </p>
<p>  When the threat came from High Duke Aleksander, asking for a fellow noble in exchange for peace from his district, Stellan actually laughed. “What will the dark things do?” He jeered. “Battle us under the sun? Loot us of our silver jewellery?”</p>
<p>  The king is a fool to take Aleksander seriously. He is the only High Duke who is also a fanged one, and one of the few of the Summer Court who is a member of the night-folk. His little estate of freaks at the very outskirts of their territory is incapable of anything.</p>
<p>  Nonetheless, the monarchs were compliant. The king sent a letter right back to Aleksander, promising the delivery of a knight as his consort. </p>
<p>  Not enough. Aleksander demanded a noble of his rank, a High Duke, but not as his consort. He wanted a High Duke as a present, as a mere <i>thing</i> subject to his whims.</p>
<p>  The king calls Stellan into the throne room for a short audience. “I am sure,” he says, “you know well what the rogue High Duke is doing.”</p>
<p>  Aleksander is gathering his brethren in his district mansion, turning the area into a cesspool where the fae are attacked and killed. Anyone who is not a fanged one who enters the district is a target to the quite-literally bloodthirsty dark things. They are savages. Stellan nods wordlessly. </p>
<p>  “And I am sure you know what he wants from us.”</p>
<p>  “He wants a High Duke, Your Majesty.”</p>
<p>  “Indeed he does.” The king looks at him, expression betraying nothing. “And you so happen to be one. Being the clever lad you are, you ought to know what I am insinuating now.”</p>
<p>  The room seems to grow cold. He tries not to look at the king, who just delivered the news with the same nonchalance he might dismiss a servant with. This man, this monarch he has served loyally for years is tossing him away to be at the mercy of a dark thing. Once Stellan leaves the palace to Aleksander’s estate, he will probably never be able to go back. The king has essentially sentenced him to death. </p>
<p>  He twists his hands in the hem of his gown, breaths coming swift and shallow. “You want to give me to the rogue High Duke, Your Majesty?”</p>
<p>  “Why, of course.” His tone makes it clear that there is no room to argue. “You have one hour to pack. A carriage will take you to Aleksander’s estate at sundown.” The king looks down at him. “You are dismissed.”</p>
<p>  Attempting to keep his hands from shaking, Stellan rises, bows and leaves the throne room. The golden sun does not lend him its warmth, and the sweet scent of hyacinth that emanates from the blossoms around his wrists and ankles smell nauseating. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He can hardly object to the king’s order, and it isn’t like he can flee. His first time leaving the capital, and it will be to a district filled with dark things.</p>
<p>  He retreats to his chambers, where a pair of chests have been taken out by the servants. Stellan sinks down into his bed, snapping his fingers to open his wardrobe. Gowns, tunics and doublets float out and into the opened chests, folded immaculately, and his prized stationery set packs itself into a box and follows the clothes. Next go his favourite books, jewellery and toiletries. Stellan concentrates to open the lowest drawer of his desk, retrieving three silver knives. He goes to his jewellery box next and slides a silver band onto his ring finger, and a places silver circlet on his head. If the dark things mean to kill him, he will not make it easy.</p>
<p>  A servant has left a new gown on his bed, an ornate periwinkle thing with the royal emblem stitched in golden thread over the heart. He slips it on, feeling the spider-silk strain against his arms. The smooth fabric feels strange against his wings. Stellan goes to his dresser next, slips a sheathed dagger into his pocket and sits down to dust rouge on his cheeks and lips. As a finishing touch, he lines his eyes with silver paint. His very face must remind the dark things that he does not want to be there.</p>
<p>  The last time he dressed up so extravagantly was during the ball where the king named him High Duke. Stellan turns away from the dresser, lifts up his chests and flutters out of his room.</p>
<p>  The carriage that will be taking him away is already waiting by the palace gates, a grim-faced footman waiting by the door. He opens the door with a bow, deliberately not looking at Stellan.</p>
<p>  All is silent safe for the soft hum of the dragonflies pulling the carriage. Trees, meadows and houses blur past, the sky turning pink, then orange, then crimson as the sun hangs low in the sky. It is quite a bit cooler without the sunlight, and Stellan rubs the sleeves of his gown on instinct. It was never this cold in the capital.</p>
<p>  Far, far away from the castle, the carriage finally stops. Stellan can catch a glimpse of the outside through the window, finding that the lush woodlands he is used to have faded to sparser, rockier fields that are commonly seen in the Spring Kingdom. The neighbouring land must be close by.</p>
<p>  Bathed in vermillion, the footman jumps out to open the carriage door, and he steps onto the ground delicately. The mansion, grey and imposing with a russet roof, rises before them. A dark thing, presumably the butler, waits by the doorway.</p>
<p>  Chests floating magically behind him, Stellan raises his head and strides towards the mansion. He clasps his hands behind his back, spreads his wings wide and wills the hyacinths around his limbs to extend outwards. The dagger in his pocket is mere inches away.</p>
<p>  The dark thing nods at him as he approaches, bowing so deeply his strawberry-blond hair nearly grazes the floor. “My lord.”</p>
<p>  Stellan barely spares him a glance. “You ought to know why I am here,” he proclaims. He hopes his voice sounds as cold to the dark thing as it does to him.</p>
<p>  “Perhaps I don’t,” he muses. He adjusts the veil that protects him from the last of the sunlight, and flashes him a fanged smile. “Why have you arrived at this fine establishment, my lord?”</p>
<p>  “The fact that you are addressing me properly implies that you know, but perhaps I will enlighten you.” His wings flutter slightly, rustling the grass in the courtyard. “I was sent as a — “ His voice grows colder — “peace offering to High Duke Aleksander.”</p>
<p>  “Ah,” he smiles wider, copper eyes flashing in the dying light. “So you are who the king decided to gift me.”</p>
<p>  He takes a step back. “You’re the High Duke.”</p>
<p>  “Correct.”</p>
<p>  “I did not expect you to be waiting by the door.”</p>
<p>  “Well,” Aleksander replies, “I wanted to take a look at my fellow High Duke before anyone else could.” He spins around, reaching out a ghostly-pale hand, and pushes the door open. “Come inside with me, my fellow lord.” Stellan does not miss the iron bangle around his sharp-boned wrist.</p>
<p>  The interior of the mansion is surprisingly cool, lit up by candles that smell faintly of herbs. Aleksander leads him up carpeted staircases, through hallways lined with strange paintings and past doors from which sound the quiet murmurs of other dark things. He keeps one hand in his pocket, holding the dagger lest somebody attacks him from behind. He wouldn’t put it past the dark things.</p>
<p>  Aleksander turns a corner, occasionally looking back to make sure he’s following him. He finally stops in front of a door covered in intricate carvings, removes his veil and pushes it open. </p>
<p>  The room that they walk into is covered wall-to-wall with bookshelves, save for one heavily-curtained wall where a desk and two chairs are waiting. Stellan runs his finger over his silver ring as Aleksander nudges him towards the desk. He sits down on one of the chairs, scanning the desk and what’s on it. A notebook is splayed open, weighed down by an inkpot and a fountain pen. A bowl of fruit is sitting at the corner, and Aleksander leans over to retrieve an apple before saying, “the king called you Stellan.”</p>
<p>  He nods curtly, taking an apple as well. “Yes, that is what you may call me.”</p>
<p>  “I left the castle just a month before you were declared High Duke, I think.” He takes a bite of the apple. “I hear they called you my replacement.”</p>
<p>  “Never heard about that. But rest assured, not much has changed since you moved here.”</p>
<p>  Aleksander snorts. “Is Marquess Roland still in trouble for selling that century-old grandfather clock?”</p>
<p>  “Indeed he is.” Stellan bites into his apple and does not say more.</p>
<p>  “Lovely gown you have there. You have always had a good eye for beauty, even as a Duke.”</p>
<p>  “Perhaps.” He continues eating his apple, watching as Aleksander reaches for another. “Do you not have to feed on blood to feel full?”</p>
<p>  He shrugs. “I have had my fill this afternoon. And anyway, it cannot be denied that fairy fruit is lovely.”</p>
<p>  “I see.”</p>
<p>  “Ah, why are you so cold?” He frowns while tossing the apple up and down. “I did not expect the noble the king gifted me to be so uptight.”</p>
<p>  Stellan vanishes the apple core with a snap of his fingers. “I just travelled across half the court to become the prize of a dark thing. I am sorry if I do not appear ecstatic.”</p>
<p>  “I thought you would be happy to leave.” Aleksander idly picks at a piece of scrap paper. “The king guards his High Dukes like jewels. You and I might be the only ones to see the world outside the capital.”</p>
<p>  His fists clench, and he says sharply, “I was hoping that my first venture from the capital would be to an orchard, or perhaps to a lake. I did not know it would be to a house full of dark things.”</p>
<p>  Aleksander’s nails, sharp and painted red, dig into the apple. “I don’t appreciate you calling us fanged ones that.”</p>
<p>  “Are you lot not dark things, though?”</p>
<p>  “We are night-folk.”</p>
<p>  “Night-folk, dark things,” Stellan taunts, “they’re essentially the same, aren’t they?” He can see Aleksander’s shoulders tense, his hands curl into fists. He smiles.</p>
<p> Their eyes meet. He keeps smiling, holds his irritated gaze until he looks away, biting his lip. “It is getting late. Maybe I should show you to our room.”</p>
<p>  Their room. Of course. Stellan rises and once again follows him through the mansion. This time, they enter a bedroom that is far smaller than he expected. Aleksander folds his veil up and drapes it over a chair, then gets to work removing his thick, heavy coat. His gown underneath is a soft, dove’s wing-grey, heavy with needlework in different hues of red. He looks over to him. “You’ve a lovely diadem.”</p>
<p>  He eases the silver crown out of his hair and looks at it. “Oh. Thank you.”</p>
<p>  “I’d call that ring you have pretty as well, if it were not capable of killing me.” He eases his bangle off his wrist and places it on his desk. “As pretentious as you fairies are, your love for beauty more than makes up for it.” Aleksander eyes the ring, which is tinted orange in the candle-light. “Why don’t you take that thing off?”</p>
<p>  Eyes never leaving his companions, Stellan slowly, cautiously slides the ring off and puts it into his pocket, next to the dagger. “There. No silver touches my skin now; I trust that no iron touches yours.”</p>
<p>  “Not a speck.” The candle-light makes his copper eyes glow almost red. “Did you bring nightclothes with you?”</p>
<p>  He nods, gesturing at the chests resting at the foot of the dark-mahogany bed. A pair of servants must have taken them up here after he left them at the doorway. With a snap of his fingers, one of them creaks open, and their nightgown floats out. Turning away, though not bothering to cover himself, he slips out of his gown, letting it fall to the floor, and slides the nightgown on.</p>
<p>  When he turns back, Aleksander has already changed, too. He folds his gown up and places it on his chair, running his fingers through his hair. His eyes are glued to the floor, and for a moment he looks almost shy. “Do you know what the king called you in his message?”</p>
<p>  “Hmm?” Stellan rolls his shoulders, hearing them crackle. He flutters a few centimetres above the ground to stretch his cramped wings. “No, of course not. I have read not one of the messages he sent out.”</p>
<p>  “He — “ Aleksander clears his throat. “He named you my ‘crown-gifted bedfellow’.”</p>
<p>  Just the mention of the title is enough to make him blush. Everybody knows what that means. He blinks, feeling heat prickle in his cheeks. “Ah.”</p>
<p>  “Did he choose you to be… that for any particular reason?” He continues staring at his feet.</p>
<p>  He unwinds his hyacinths, asking as he does, “are you calling me promiscuous?”</p>
<p>  “N-No,” Aleksander stammers. “I just thought you were sent because perhaps you were particularly charismatic, or pretty, and the king thought…” He trails off at the end. </p>
<p>  Stellan places his flowers in a water-filled vase, pressing his fingertips to the cool glass. “I honestly do not know why the king chose to send me. You know how debauched us fae all are.” He shrugs. “The servants do not have trouble cleaning my sheets as much as my fellow fae nobles, but they have a challenge sometimes.” He looks at Aleksander, pursing his lips. “Does that answer your question?”</p>
<p>  “Perhaps.”</p>
<p>  “Though,” he considers, smiling slowly, “if the king named me your bedfellow I really ought to live up to the title.”</p>
<p>  Aleksander glances up at him, biting his lip. “Hmm?”</p>
<p>  Stellan approaches him, stepping closer, closer, until the space between them feels warm. He can see the red paint coating his companion’s lips, making them look all the more delicious.</p>
<p>  He steps even closer, reaching out one hand to cup Aleksander’s chin. He meets his gaze with something that looks like a challenge in his eyes. And before he can say anything, Stellan feels cold fingers press at the back of his neck and pull him in.</p>
<p>  Their lips press together, warm and cool. He wraps his other arm around Aleksander’s waist to keep him pinned and the cool silk slides against his skin, slowly heating up with the fevered passion that the kiss brings. With a sigh, he tilts his head back at the feeling of his fingers running through his hair.</p>
<p>  The two of them half-walk, half-stumble towards the bed, and Stellan takes the chance to deepen the kiss. He still tastes of the apples he had, and his tongue grazes against a fang — enough to ache slightly but not enough to break the skin. He gasps. His eyes flutter closed. When they open again, he twines his tongue with Aleksander’s just to see his coppery eyes turn dark.</p>
<p>  After they break away, both gasping and flushed, Stellan dips his head to bite his neck. Aleksander drops down onto his bed, giving him a chance to clamber onto his lap and continue his ministrations. His lips and teeth move from his neck to his collarbone, nipping until petal-pink marks mottle his pale skin, and he grinds down on his lap, right over his arousal. The shocked moan that escapes his lips at that sends sparks of lust racing downwards.</p>
<p>  Down his mouth goes, tongue teasing at heated skin, while he deftly undoes the buttons of Aleksander’s nightgown and pushes it over his shoulder. The grey silk pools on the sheets, shining like oil in the candlelight. Stellan runs his hands down his arms, trailing teasing fingertips to rest at his hips and press. He bites another mark at his shoulder.</p>
<p>  Panting, Aleksander pushes him away. The crimson paint on his lips is smeared, and the rouge on his own have found their way down his neck and shoulders. When he speaks, his voice is slightly higher. “Well, this isn’t very fair. How come I am undressed and you are not?”</p>
<p>  Stellan undoes the first button on his nightgown, holding his gaze while slowly unbuttoning his way down. He does not miss his hungry eyes tracing southwards. Once all the buttons have been dealt with, he slips the nightgown off and runs his hands down his chest. His legs spread slightly, exposing the desire in between. </p>
<p>  “Oh.” Aleksander parts his swollen lips, reaching out to place his hands at his waist. “You’re beautiful.”</p>
<p>  He silences him with another heated kiss, welcoming the slow slide of his tongue into his mouth. Stellan does not resist as he is eased off his partner’s lap and manoeuvred to lie on his back on the bed. With a timid kiss to the tip of his pointed ear, Aleksander turns away to reach for his nightgown and take out its soft sash.</p>
<p>  “And what are you planning, dark thing?” He drawls.</p>
<p>  Aleksander brushes a lock of hair away from his face, smiling coquettishly. “Just a test of your courage, my lord.”</p>
<p>  “You doubt my bravery?”</p>
<p>  He straddles him, knees clamping his hips, and leans forwards to tie the sash around his eyes. “Perhaps.”</p>
<p>  The impromptu blindfold plunges him into a world of darkness, completely unaware of anything that Aleksander might want to do to him. The warm weight of his body disappears from his hips, and the mattress creaks to announce his leaving from the bed. Stellan is left alone.</p>
<p>  If he strains his ears enough, he can hear the sounds of Aleksander’s footsteps and of hands rummaging through cloth. Soft as the night, light as a feather, he returns slowly and climbs onto the mattress again. Stellan can feel himself heat up as he nears, and is once again pinned to the bed just as the sharp, harsh sound of a knife being unsheathed fills his ears.</p>
<p>  His breath hitches, and his heart begins to pound even faster. The blade sounds real, not an imitation made of glamour. If he is not careful, it could spill his blood and take his life, mark him down in history as yet another slaughtered bedfellow. The sheath falls onto the sheets with a soft thump, and cool fingers cup his cheek.</p>
<p>  Lazily, leisurely, languidly, the fingers trail down, and the blade follows their movement. It is cold, the lethal tip just barely grazing his skin.  Goosebumps spring up wherever the sly touch goes, and it takes all the willpower within Stellan not to shake. </p>
<p>  The blade brushes across his sternum, and a whimper escapes his lips before he can stop himself. Aleksander lets out a huff of laughter and leans down, pressing their chests together, to kiss his neck and tease, “are you scared?”</p>
<p>  “Not in the slightest.” The tremor in his voice declares otherwise, and Aleksander clearly picks it up. He kisses him again, and the wicked juxtaposition of the quick, heated slide of their lips and the slow, icy drag of the blade somehow makes the lust that was sparking in Stellan grow tenfold. He moans.</p>
<p>  By the time they have broken their breathtaking kiss, the blade has slipped its way to his stomach. Aleksander takes his sweet time here, tracing lines down his skin, letting the sensation of cold fingers intertwine with that of a colder knife. All the more sensitive without his sight, all Stellan can do is tremble and take it. His desire grows by the second, overtaking him faster than he thought possible. He should feel disgusted, really, for allowing a dark thing to bed him, but how can repulsion be a part of the overwhelming tidal wave of need washing over him? </p>
<p>  Sharp teeth nip at his collarbone, sucking a mark there while the knife grazes the lines of his hip. It brushes and intensifies the lustful ache in his thighs as Aleksander tends to his upper half; the pleasure-pain that he brings all over his neck and shoulders goes rushing downwards. </p>
<p>  A sudden shock of cold makes Stellan arch in pleasured surprise. The flat of the blade is held against his inner thigh, mere inches from his arousal; it keeps him pinned to the bed as it firmly presses into heated skin. His hands twist the sheets. His lips part in a soft moan.</p>
<p>  Aleksander kisses him again, pressing the knife harder as though to make him bleed. But the blade does not pierce him, only increases his pleasure until he can feel it rising between his legs. Panting, Stellan reaches up blindly to snake an arm around his neck and draw him closer. His stomach rubs slightly against his arousal, and the friction is only oil to the wildfire of his need.</p>
<p>  The blade moves to his other thigh. He moans again, shaking while he feels himself drip. Aleksander whines quietly above him while brushing his lips down his chest, heavy breaths tickling his skin. Stellan grinds up against him, arousal against arousal, and hears him hiss out a curse. </p>
<p>  A quivering hand goes to untie the sash around his eyes and tug it away. His eyes fly open, greeted instantly with the sight of Aleksander, eyes glazed over and gasping lips parted in a delirious smile. And though he surely looks just as ruined, Stellan asks regardless, “so am I courageous enough for you?”</p>
<p>  “The bravest.” He slips the knife back into its sheath and tosses it onto the nearby bedside table. “It seems you fae are not cowards after all.”</p>
<p>  “You may argue that we are the boldest of the fair folk.” With his own dizzy smile, Stellan lifts his other hand to trace down the back of Aleksander’s neck and stops at the small of his back. His fingertips press insistently, pushing him lower until their hips nearly touch. The heat is almost overwhelming. </p>
<p>  Aleksander bucks his hips slightly. The groan that he lets out next sounds beseeching, a desperate plea for pleasure. Stellan pulls him down for a kiss and arches upwards, like he did just a few minutes ago. His nails dig into his skin as his lust grows, bottom half practically aching for relief. No longer can he control the sounds escaping him, and every gasp and sigh appears to arouse Aleksander more. </p>
<p>  They cling to each other, moaning into the kiss, and move together until their legs shake and grips weaken. Stellan closes his eyes again, focusing only on the growing tightness in his stomach. His hips jerk, his back arches; he nips Aleksander’s tongue to hear his muffled noises of need. There is no more need for words, not when their debauched actions say all that they wish to be expressed.</p>
<p>  Stellan falls first, so wound up from Aleksander’s “test” and the friction that he spills his lust all over their stomachs. Aleksander breaks the kiss, whining, and releases soon after. The room has warmed considerably. For a while, they simply remain there, drunk on desire. The room is silent save for the sound of their heavy breathing.</p>
<p>  Aleksander rises after a few minutes to give him space to sit up. His pale stomach is dotted with the pearly remains of their aphrodisia, which he looks down at and flushes. “I think I see why the king sent you now,” he says softly.</p>
<p>  “Am I really such a talented bedfellow?” Stellan purrs. He stretches his arms, content to laze around on the bed while his companion crosses the room to retrieve a basin and jug of water. The sight of Aleksander, dishevelled and ruined, walking in the moonlight is truly a treat to the eyes. </p>
<p>  “The best I have met, that’s for sure.” He places the basin on the bed and pours water into it. From his desk he fetches two handkerchiefs, one of which he wets and hands to Stellan. “Come now, let us not bother the servants by going to the baths now.”</p>
<p>  He wipes his soiled stomach with the cool cloth, rinses it in the basin and begins cleaning his arms next. On his back, his wings flutter tiredly. Stellan flaps them while reaching for his rumpled nightgown, which he slips on while flinging Aleksander his own gown. “Here.”</p>
<p>  Once they are both dressed and cleaned for the most part, they climb into bed again, this time under the blanket. Aleksander curls into his chest, cheeks still flushed, and smiles sleepily. Stellan wraps his arms around him. He glances at his silver diadem, which lies forgotten on his chest and glows in the moonlight.</p>
<p>  He will continue forgetting it until he leaves the night-folk.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>